


sore heads, old love, and other things we deal with as the world comes to a fiery end

by OnyxSphinx



Series: newmann one-shots [116]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: (yet), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, the world isn't going to end but they don't know that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21528277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx
Summary: Newt has a headache; Hermann helps.(And maybe they're in love; and that'ssomething,at the end of the world)
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Series: newmann one-shots [116]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1286762
Comments: 1
Kudos: 35





	sore heads, old love, and other things we deal with as the world comes to a fiery end

**Author's Note:**

> I think all your work is ace and I was wondering if you could try this prompt with Newmann or just Newt and Hermann as their perspective from the lab rather than battlefield? (Or what ever angle you take:)) (Totally get it if you don't, I'll look forward to reading whatever else you do ) "Our friends say it's darkest before the sun rises but, we're pretty sure they're all wrong" -No Children, The Mountain Goats

“Hermann,” Newton calls, and then, a moment later, when Hermann doesn’t look up, again; “ _Hermann._ ”

From where he’s sprawled out on the floor, he can see the other’s lips twist into a frown; hand stilling its course on the chalk-board, eyes flickering side-to-side. “Yes, Newton?” he sighs; resignation. It’s not resentful, really; Newt hasn’t interrupted anything big; they’re in a period of stillness, now; no kaiju for at least two more months.

“I’m _bored,_ ” Newt says; staring at the ceiling; sticks his tongue out and crosses his eyes to look at it.

“…and you want me to do _what_ about this, exactly?” Hermann asks.

“Uh, _entertain_ me, _duh,_ ” Newt retorts.

There’s a moment of silence; then, a huffing laugh. “Newton,” Hermann says; and this time, he does stop writing. “Newton, you’re a grown man. Entertain yourself.”

Newt scowls. “Yeah but I want _you_ to entertain me,” he says; petulant. “It’s not the same, dude. We’re not dying of kaiju, but _I’m_ going to die of _boredom._ ”

“Oh, do quit being dramatic,” Hermann snaps, but after a moment, there’s the scrape of the ladder; the soft _thump_ of Hermann’s good foot hitting the ground; then, the tap of his cane. “You shouldn’t lay on the ground,” he says, “who _knows_ what’s been there.”

“Uh, mostly kaiju guts,” Newt says, with a shrug. “Anyway, I moped earlier. It’s pretty clean.” He discreetly nudges the small piece of kaiju-something-or-other beneath the table with his foot. Hermann sighs.

“At least move to the sofa,” he says, “it’s hard for me to bend at this angle.”

Newt grimaces. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that,” he apologises, “just, uh, give me a min. I gotta conquer gravity.”

That gets a stifled laugh; the sound making the corners of Newt’s lips tilt up.

“Thank you, Newton,” Hermann says, and takes a seat as well once Newt makes it to the sofa; sitting properly, the uptight fucker; still, he doesn’t say anything about the fact that Newt’s taking up like, 80% of the sofa, so. “Come here,” he says, tapping Newt’s forehead, “I can practically feel your headache, Newton. You’ve been clenching your teeth _horribly._ ”

“Thanks,” Newt mutters; slightly bashfully; shifts so his head rests in Hermann’s lap; sighs, eyes flickering shut as Hermann digs cold fingers into the base of his skull. “I think I miss you,” he says; quietly; after a few moments.

Hermann hums. “I haven’t gone anywhere, darling,” he returns, fingers working steadily.

“We never get this anymore,” Newt says. “Just…to _be,_ you know? Like, we spend all day together, but we don’t really…we’re not really _together_ with each other, you know?”

“Ah,” Hermann says; and then falls into silence; thinking, Newt can tell, by the way he worries his lip; contemplative.

They don’t talk, really; for a bit, just Hermann’s fingers digging into Newt’s skin; the ache slowly bleeding away; silence, comfortably. Just for a bit.

Newt thinks about the war waging outside; thinks about all the people they’ve lost, the ones who died in the attacks, the civilians and the rangers; thinks about those that have died because there wasn’t a cure fast enough, and the Blue killed them; slowly, slowly.

He thinks about silences; the silence when you stand over a grave, the solemnity that descends; wonders if there will be a grave to bury him in, a body to bury, anyone left to bury him. Hopes, quickly, quietly, without voicing it, that there will be. He doesn’t want to be the last one left. He’s kind of a coward like that.

(Not Hermann. Hermann would probably be the last; would drive himself into the ground to save everyone else, and then if— _when,_ maybe—the kaiju have killed everyone else, he’ll be the last; without anyone left to give him a burial, to read an epithet; to wish him off.

Hermann would do that.

Hermann is not a coward.

He’s maybe the bravest person Newt knows.)

“We were supposed to be Earth’s great hope, its fucking shooting star,” he says; instead. “But it feels really fucking dark up here on this pedestal.”

Hermann stops; for a moment. “No,” he says; starting, again. “We’re nothing of the sort, Newton. We’re just people trying our best. We’re no better or worse than anyone else, really. Also, your analogy is flawed, given that as the higher you go, the darker it gets, given that space is a void.”

Newt huffs. “Shut up with your logic,” he grumbles, and then, “fine, maybe—darkest before the dawn, or whatever the fuck.” Thinks about that, a bit; hums a few bars of _No Children,_ both because it’s been stuck in his head all day and because it fucking _fits,_ and then he gets partway through ( _our friends say it’s darkest before the sun rises/we’re pretty sure they’re all wrong_ ) and stops because actually, it’s fucking depressing.

This time, when Hermann laughs, it sounds…sad, almost. Mournful, maybe, though for what, Newt doesn’t know. “I’m fairly certain it’s darkest after the sun sets,” he says. “After the light of the sun’s been put out.”

“That’s depressing,” Newt says, flatly, “and beside the point.”

“'Shut up with your logic’?” Hermann asks; raises a brow, teasingly.

“Yep,” Newt says, “and keep at that, dude, my headache’s almost all gone.”

* * *

They’re standing together; here, in front of the still-cooling body of Otachi’s baby; the bustle of the city mere metres away from them, and the beeping of the machines around them; caution and hazmat tape going up like a toddler’s over-eager attempt at wrapping a gift.

“We might die,” Newt says; quite frankly, and with more than a little bit of nasallyness to it, since his nose keeps bleeding at intervals.

“We might,” Hermann agrees, and takes the pons headset from him; snaps it on and adjusts the straps. “But…if we do, it shall be together.”

 _Oh,_ Newt thinks; _Oh, okay,_ and he smiles at Hermann hesitantly; takes a deep breath; begins the countdown.

Hits the button.

( _you are coming down with me_

 _hand in unlovable hand_ )

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [autisticharrow](https://autisticharrow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
